


Warm Fur

by the_bees_tales9229



Series: Juicy Things [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Historical, Animal Spirit Ratonhnhake:ton/Connor, Assassin's Creed (Video Game), Assassin's Creed III, Assassin's Creed III: Liberation, Canon Divergence - The Tyranny of King Washington, Corsican character(s), Eventual Smut, F/M, Fanfiction, Fluff and Smut, Historic Fanfiction, Native American Character(s), One Shot, Oral Sex, Ratonhnhake:ton is so cuddly, Romance, Rough Sex, Sex, Shameless Smut, Short Story, Slow Romance, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-07-29 20:38:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16271912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_bees_tales9229/pseuds/the_bees_tales9229
Summary: Two very different individuals find time to fall in love.This is a two-chapter work, with some action but more romance/smut in the next chapters. This is set in the TOKW of ACIII. You have been warned.Ratonhnhake:ton/OC.





	Warm Fur

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Despite being a fanfiction, this depicts a period, with a Native American and a specific European character. I don't mean to offend anyone and the research I've made are limited to what is free for one solo fanfiction writer. That said, it is in a romantic genre and all lead characters are depicted as respectfully as they can be. Thank you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Venturing through the wood, she encounters the expected danger, only to be rescued by the rumored and strange Warrior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is influenced by the Little Red Riding Hood and The Hungry Fox tales. This first chapter is purely action and exposition. Chapter 2 soon...

The Colonial Woods and the balmy flora of New Orleans were unlike the mountainous dark woods were on the _provençal_ , yet they all have, in her curious mind, such foreboding, mystical and dangerous qualities to them. The way the late afternoon light shone through the slits between leaves and branches appear like orbs of the spirits or of the _fee_. All these woods she had stepped into in her life are always entrancing, greeting those who travel or wander by, simply an observant, giver and taker of life, indiscriminate on all.

Welcome she may be, she knew she didn’t quite belong. She knows so and it was the same feeling when she was under the monarchical land that overtook her birthplace, Ajaccio.

That feeling of belonging to a place or to a person, sometimes it makes her heart ache with homesick and longing. But she dare not indulge it.

There was work to be done.

Appearing as a peasant girl with a few trade goods and provisions, riding her horse through the forest, she clutches her basket tightly. Underneath the humble appearance of small vegetables, pouch of beans, corn cakes and sunflowers lays a thing of importance: hidden in the intricate weaving of the basket is a folded slip of paper containing a coded message for the resistance. And she, although not within their ranks, is a steadfast ally of the Assassins.

Keeping to the shadowed edges of the woods, she and her trusted mare had been on a three-day journey from the Natives’ Old Woods to acquire the information and going to the Scotch Plains, where the decoder will be waiting for her.

Washington’s soldiers have increased over the three months after the Evacuation of the British and new political powers now hold sway to the settlers and natives’ lives. She would have gladly stayed with her godfather, his family and her Lady Grandpré back in their New Orleans base, but the call for help in the northern colonies was difficult to ignore. That, and the resistance and Brotherhood in the north needed different speakers who can translate different codes. And so, she went, out of a sense of duty and feeling that she can do more than being comfortable already with people who trust and care for her, and whom she gives the same.

There were many difficulties coming to the northern colonies, and it wasn’t just the new Curtain Forts—heavily guarded sentries and forts that monitor what passes through—that soon will surround the Thirteen States or the armies becoming loyal to Washington and his bureaucrats. Some natives and settlers distrust speakers of French, as history dictates a bloody war between them and the French, but they have soon proved themselves throughout the summer season that they are worth more than being trusted, worth more than their Brotherhoods’ badges and their spirits for the resistance.

She felt a sense of both homesickness and belonging among the different mixes of people, coming together to build a new world from this chaos.

_How are you, Ajaccio?_

She wonders to this very day if she had let herself die instead in that island, than be bought to France, then taken by what remained of her family to go across the Atlantic Ocean to another French Colony…

She breathes in deeply and releases the air, refreshed by the mystical scent of the deep woods. She whispers to the trees and insects to excuse them while they made there way through the sloped path, through narrow clearings, large rocks and brooks. She whispers for a successful journey, something she always whispers, for no one, not even the most powerful, have any sway on the unpredictability of fate.

As the afternoon light dulls to twilight, she sees her mare’s ears twitching. She whines at the spot and stands still! She heard something, too!

“There, there… _desolé…”_

She caresses her mane and thick neck, ordering her to stop as well to listen closely. She readies one hand on her waist, on the handle of her stiletto, patient for anymore noise.

When she hears none, she sets her horse on a slow walk, still listening for a telltale sign. If they were soldiers, they would be more prominent, with a caravan, horses, muskets, etc.

If they were stragglers—lawless, unwanted frontiersmen—they would be _this_ very quiet…

Having enough of the uncanny silence, she decides to command her horse to gallop! As her mare thunders across the forest, the sounds of men shouting from different directions confirm her suspicions!

_“DON’T LET HER GET AWAY!”_

She commands her horse to keep her speed, grunting out her breath as she gallops across the sloping terrain as the forest gives way to another clearing! She hears the sound of muskets being fired, making her mare panic and whining in the spot!

_“Non! Non! Please!”_

Her mare is still panicking, but continued her pace, gaining speed as she does her best to direct her with the reins! The tendrils of hair around her face whip about as they sped through the maze of the woods, evading the grasp of the old gnarly fingers of tree branches, reaching out to take her and her horse away, and deep into their hard trunks to hide them from this world…

She shakes her head to still her thoughts of the unknown. She turns her head to look around her, to see or hear any discerning sounds of footsteps or hooves coming, but there was none!

She directs her mare to stop, which somewhat agitates her as she comes to trot in a circle, huffing in eagerness to keep running through the woods. Her hooves clop and stomp against the soil and dead leaves, shaking her head and twitching her ears.

“Come now, _petite sotte. Sois patient.”_

She had to make sure how far they are from those stragglers and from the actual path she needed to go through to get to the destination.

Setting her horse to trot, she inquires with her compass and the very dog-eared map stashed in her tools to see how far off they are. She curses when she realizes they are off the usual route and is only a few kilometres to Lexington, a town very much crawling with lawless stragglers and soldiers taking advantage of them.

She can just travel southward further, never mind the route they generally take, so long as she doesn’t encounter anymore stragglers.

But as soon as she sets her horse to another gallop, shouts from behind the rock and underneath the soil surprises them both!

More stragglers!

“Get her things! Get her horse!”

They are all armed and had been camouflaging themselves in the woods! This dark, mystical, dangerous wood…

Determined to see this through, she sets her panic-stricken horse to gallop to any direction, wanting to get away from them as fast as possible! Pulling out her stiletto, she sees one about to make a reckless jump at her side!

“ _Get down! Get—!”_

With a roar, she plunges her blade on his neck, then pulls the bloodied blade from his flesh and kicks him off her side! There are more of them running behind her, and as she turns to look at them trying desperately to chase them, she heaves a sigh of relief—!

An explosion crackles in front of her mare, sending her horse in a wild-eyed frenzy and rearing her front legs to defend herself! The shock sends her off her saddle, tumbling off it and painfully landing on the ground! In a panic, her horse runs back to where the stragglers are coming, there muskets and other weapons drawn, their crazed shouts of glee coming closer!

An improvised blackpowder explosive was thrown in their way! And had almost cost their lives! She sees no more explosives and, because of its too volatile nature, it would be logical to not waste a great part of their ammunition!

Standing up immediately, she pulls her stiletto and pistol, readying to fight them off to her last breath!

She pulls up her pistol and takes aim to the nearest and fastest one, and shoots! He falls headfirst when the bullet ball plunges through his nose! Running towards him to find a flintlock on him, she charges as another straggler, a woman, comes at her with her shrilly scream! With a knife, she jumps at her to tackle her, but swats her empty pistol across her face, knocking her out! Getting to the body, she finds a pistol and aims at another, but his musket is ready, aiming for her head—!

A growl of a wolf comes and bites at the long muzzle of the musket! More canine growls and barks, as wolves are suddenly descending upon them from deep in the forest, sending the stragglers behind in a scared frenzy! But there was a big man, with his large axe and malicious grin, coming at her! He throws it as she pulls the trigger! The bullet hits his stomach while she watches the twirl of the axe hurtling across the air, towards her head—!

But a strong arm snatches the weapon before the blade tip can connect to her head! Still in a shocked reverie, she watches the stragglers run for their lives as wolves chase them down…well, they _appear_ like wolves, but they are transparent and too pale, the image of the woods seen _through_ the visage of these predators…

“Are you alright?” Came a deep, gentle voice.

Staring up, a native man with the most shocking, glowing blue eyes stares at her with concern.

_Glowing, blue eyes!_

She is immediately transported to that one night she had been at the Old Homestead—a ruined small homestead that should’ve been a town, if not for Washington’s reign of terror and hate against natives and rebellious settlers—just outside the Mile’s End inn. She had decided to gather more firewood for the encampment and ventured into the nearby woods. When she went closer to the shallow edge of the river, she sees a dead rabbit caught in a snare. Thinking the hunter has left this overnight, she decides to cut it loose and bring it back, when the snarl of a hungry wolf comes by, its yellow eyes glowing. Slowly, she places the dead rabbit back into the ground for the wolf to take. The wolf, however, barks at her threateningly, making her jump in fear. Frozen to the spot, she had half a mind to take out her stiletto, but seeing as the wolf is faster, she would die before she could pull out the weapon.

And as if the woods have called upon _him,_ the large shadow of a man comes from above and lands in between her and the hungry wolf. Whining in fright from the surprise, the wolf changes its mind and bounds to the opposite direction.

“Are you alright?” Came a deep, gentle voice. He had turned to her and extended both his arms to gesture how he can help her with the firewood. “Please, don’t be frightened.”

She managed to find her voice after that ridiculous sentence. After all, this man’s eyes glowed brighter than the wolf’s and it’s the color of lightning flash! “Do you say that to the people who look at you?”

He smirks, which both confirms him a man and also someone with a wicked sense of humor. “Only to people who help others. Criminals do not live long enough to scream about me.”

She lets out a dry chuckle. “You say people. I thought you were going to say women…”

Another smirk, although not as jeering as before. “You are right. Even some of the Iroquoian women find my visage accursed.”

She chuckles again before thanking him. “Thank you…but I can take this firewood on my own.”

He nods and insists on accompanying her. She takes note of him taking the dead rabbit and the snare, indicating it was his. They tread the path in silence, listening to the nocturnal sounds of the wood around them. When the faint golden glow of campfire nears them, she turns to say goodbye, but sees him stopping much farther than where she stood.

In the dim light, she catches her breath at the awesome sight of this man: a tall man of more than six feet, he is muscularly burly and broad shouldered, dressed in native attire. Yet, she must say, he is dressed rather spartanly even for a native, but thought that he must be of certain rank or a warrior of his people, to bare his large torso so dangerously. Dressed in thick bear hide and wolf hood, his long, powerful legs are dressed humbly in deerskin trousers and his feet in classic moccasins. His skin, a golden brown, glows well against the campfire’s dim light, revealing some of the inked patterns of his tattoos. Despite the light, however, she cannot see some of the intricate details of his clothing, such as his wristbands and bracer, and, importantly, his face. His strange blue eyes are the only ones that remain significant from the shadows across his face.

“Take care.” He murmurs, his tone stern. “Do make sure you keep your wits about you. There is news of stragglers hiding very well in the woods.”

Her eyes squint, realizing that he has an idea of who she is. She remembers the rabbit he snared and she is suddenly aware that he had likely been watching around this area…

“Who are you?”

He simply nods. “Tell Aveline Grandpré her provisions to this colony are more than enough already and that she has my thanks.”

She has so many questions and she has half a mind to chase after him, but as quickly as he had helped her, he had disappeared into the shadows.

She does write a letter to Lady Grandpré regarding this strange man and his appreciation, and she soon tells Ayita, her close friend, about her encounter.

Ayita’s eyes are wide, finding all this frightening and wonderful at the same time. “The Great warrior! You have met him!” Her pretty, young face is ecstatic and infectious.

“I feel that you find this man to be… _more_ than just what you say.” She says in a suggestive tone.

Ayita blushes and giggles. “No! Not at all…” The two women are aware of the young resistant and Assassin, Fillan McCarthy’s commitment for Ayita. “Besides…Fillan is sweet to me. We are thinking of moving to the north with my relatives when he is promoted to another rank.”

And soon, she finds herself getting deeper into Ayita’s stories about this man and his many feats, feats such as successfully burning down an old British fort for plans of repurposing for Washington’s most trusted associates (confirmed by Lady Grandpré), to navigating dangerous sea missions, most of which are helping natives and settlers migrate away from the colonies.

Most of which violent and filled with mystical wonder, and not once did Ayita fail to reiterate supernatural abilities: his ghostly wolves, the way he can take flight and that his strength is that of ten wild bears together! And his glowing blue eyes, the eyes of a man and of a spirit, but all actions of the most merciless justice…

Now remembering those stories, she is reeling at the reality now that her eyes are on this very individual!

With his glowing blue eyes sharply piercing through her very soul, she is both beholden in fear and awe! The daylight reveals him to be more fearsome than he was at night! He extends a hand for her to take.

The sound of a whimper and a curse bubbled through her trembling lips. She backs away, crawling in reverse, fumbling for her stiletto! “No…no…”

“It’s alright.” He reassures her, still gentle, like her first encounter with him. She notes his left arm, where a thick native wristband looked too modified to be just an accessory. She sees the glint of its insignia and a hidden blade as he extends his hands for her to take. She realizes _what_ he is!

She gives him her hand and he pulls her up—!

A roped dart plunges deep into his back! They both scream as he lets go of her hand and falls to his knees! The same giant man with the axe before has thrown a roped dart at her savior!

He yanks at the tool cruelly, sending the warrior reeling backward! He screams in pain as he tries to reach for the dart to pull it out! A click of the flintlock comes from the big straggler, aimed at the native’s hooded head! Grappling for the next tool she can reach, she hurtles the axe at its owner and the sound of the blade connecting at his broad chest shocks him!

He stares at the axe and at her, dropping the loaded weapon and rope as he falls to his knees. The warrior stands up, gritting his teeth and reaching behind him. When he grasps the dart, he pulls out the weapon from his back, blood dripping down behind him. He tosses the dart away in anger and approaches the axed man.

In his hoarse, dying breath, he snarls at him. “These woods…they will no longer be ours…so we take what we can.”

“Your actions are of the most vile and desperate.” The warrior admonishes. “But I do pity you.”

And with that, the warrior grips the handle of the axe and pulls out with ease. The straggler grunts in pain but became silent when the warrior struck him cleanly to the head, the axe deepened through his skull! The straggler falls backwards, the sound of his body a loud crumpling heap of what was once someone alive.

The warrior bends down to pick up the man’s fallen pistol and takes it for himself. Despite his injury—a bloodied hole on his muscled back—he stands upright and uncomplaining of any pain.

There are tears falling down her face, but the magnanimity of the whole situation is too much for her to even produce a sound through her lips.

But she stands, shakily and a bit weary from the things she has done. She had to finish her journey. And she cannot without her trusted companion, her mare!

“Where is she?” She speaks in a frightened tone. She walks towards where the stragglers had ran off, knowing that was where she had last seen her mare. She walks with purpose, but her feet feel sore and the muscles on her legs shake in fear. She ignores the warrior, who gazes at her without a word. “Please…come back.”

She feels a hand enclose on her left shoulder. She stares behind her to look at this perplexing man with his glowing blue eyes. They are the color of lightning flash, contrasting his warm brown skin and even with tattoos and his hood to shadow his features she finds he has a pleasant face.

Her mind reels as she feels his face to be familiar…

“This way.” He murmurs gently, then from his other hand, he gives her the forgotten stiletto. When her hand wraps around the blade’s handle, he lets her go to lead her towards her mare.

They do find her after walking back to the path they had come through after the ambush. She sucks a breath when she sees her mare standing calmly and sniffing at the snout of a fully-formed wolf, who in turn sniffs its nose back at the horse, tail wagging.

“It’s real, yes?” She asks, her footsteps going backward. “I saw…I saw apparitions…”

Questions and memories of Ayita’s stories surface from her mind, yet she could not find the words or point the right emotion to this. The calmness of her mare and the wolf’s stills her anxious heart.

The warrior halts her from walking away by putting his to her shoulders and pushes her gently. “It’s alright. This wolf won’t harm you.”

She approaches with caution, but as soon as her mare switches her attention to her, her horse trots back to her as if nothing violent had almost happened to them. But happily and with relief, she wraps her arms around her thick neck and whispers joyful things to her. She reels at the quickness of it all and how her mission could’ve been jeopardized in an instant. And worse, the stragglers would’ve dismantled the resistance because of their greedy actions!

“Let us leave!” The warrior’s urgent voice wakes her from her reunion and reverie, and realizes that they are still too close to where the stragglers were. And from the ruckus alone, that can alert soldiers passing by even within a mile! “Get your fallen things, if any! We shall need to hide!”

She sees him calmly petting the wolf while his voice betrayed his true emotions. Yet, there was something so serene about that moment, fleeting and real. The wolf scampers away, as if it simply went there to greet him and the horse. Her brows furrow at the curious moment, but she let that sit aside as the moment calls for their escape.

She turns to the things still on her horse, but realizes she is missing one object. “My basket! My basket is missing!”

Quickly, the warrior runs back to where she had fallen. Deciding to mount her horse, she sets her mare to a gallop to retrace their steps. She finds the warrior crouched among the bushes and procures her empty basket. Desperately, she motions for him to give it to her.

“Please! Give it!”

When her hands grasp at the object she immediately flips the basket upside-down and her fingers trace across the weaving—and she sighs with relief! “Still here…”

She finds the folded thin slip of paper in between the weaving and thanks all the powers that still bestow upon her. She slips it back into its hiding.

The warrior remains alert, a bit panicked. His head turns all around him and his eyes, already a strange glowing color, seem to glow brighter. Her gaze squints as she looks deeply into his features. She swears to her departed family that he looks familiar…

“We must leave!”

She resettles herself on the saddle, thinking he has no horse. “Come.”

“No. I am too heavy. I do have my own horse.”

He stares ahead of the path and she realizes that wherever he had made his horse wait, it could be far. “Then ride with me so I can get you there.”

He hesitates, his eyes scanning the load already hanging around her mare. Then they hear it: it was subtle, but the sounds of a speeding wagon and powerful hooves were unmistakable.

His eyes widen, then, deciding, he mounts behind her, grunting as he uncomfortably settles between the load and the original rider. Her mare grunts and neighs at the added weight, so she apologizes to her and caresses her mane. “I’m sorry, but it will be short. I promise— _aaah!”_

She squeals when she feels the solid, thick pair of his thighs against hers as he tries to fit himself better. Pressing his solid body against her, they uncomfortably fit the saddle while he ensures none of her belongings and provisions accidentally fall off.

“Please stop moving!” She protests, and her mare makes a sudden, almost bucking movement! She goes to caress her neck and mane, whispering to her to calm down.

The warrior, clearly more agitated that he had resorted to this, rationalizes. “I apologize that it had to be like this, but if we do not hurry, they will find us!”

He readjusts himself and she _swears!_ She swears that she felt the svelte bulge of his—!

She cannot voice it, not even inside her own mind! How inappropriate the whole thing is, having her very derriere quite on top of his—!

“We do not fit the saddle, let alone the whole horse.” He sadly observes, as he turns his head around them to discern any enemies coming. She finds it so unbelievable how he sounds genuinely serious about the whole affair and oblivious of the _other!_ “Please, I can direct us to where I left my stallion, so I can get off your horse!”

She groans and, as much as possible, tries to remain stiff and not make any salacious movements against his thighs. She made the idea to have him hitch her horse with her, after all. But she wasn’t expecting _this_ , however.

She commands her mare to go, taking his directions to where he had left his stallion. Because of the weight—and he is a sizable man—her mare’s gallops are more measured, even just trotting. The whole ordeal is not so awkward, although her mare’s gait makes these swaying movements and occasional need to stretch and finding a bit of comfort in the stifling press of their bodies together does elicit from her an unwanted feeling of his more intimate areas.

The warrior remains quiet, either realizing that the discomfort is more than just the stifling predicament or too alert and eager to ensure their survival is assured. Either way, she does find herself more focused on getting him to his horse as soon as possible because of his silence. It was through this silence, however, that her mind is able to recall the visage of a familiar face…

As they traverse onward, her mare’s sharp turns elicits them to lean their bodies forward, especially when the horse picks up speed. Each time they happen, her breath hitches when he wraps his hands around her waist whilst his massive body presses further against her back. There was nothing lascivious in the way he does these, as his hands are too direct and his body language connotes of a very vigilant man, concentrating on getting them to the right path. And it was perhaps these reasons that have her heart beating and her breath caught.

Because it wasn’t only his purity that makes her rethink of true gentlemanliness, she finally remembers _who_ he is now! And she feels so unfortunate to have this situation an impression to him!

His native upbringing and overall chivalrous mentality, as Lady Grandpré had told her before she embarked to the northern colonies, has made him unaffected of what constitutes as inappropriate, at least to colonials like her.

_Please, please, let me redeem myself!_

“So, uh…” She decides to break the silence, but halfway through her thoughts, she almost forgets what she wanted to ask. “I have a question…uh…”

“Go ahead.” He murmurs, gentler than a breeze. Again, that has her heart beating. His voice is cleanly deep, coming from within his broad chest. She licks her lips. It had been long since she had been with a man. And it had to be Lady Grandpré’s trusted friend and fellow high-level Assassin…

_By Lord and the great fee, please…_

“I will partly control the reins.” He flexes his left arm, brushing against hers to reach the reins in front of her. Not only is the insignia flashing clearly, but his helpful gesture has unknowingly granted her a feast of his thick forearm and the warmth of his muscular bicep.

She managed to remember what she wanted to ask, despite the lustful fogginess that has entered her mind. “Oh thank you! But I need to know if you are alright…”

“Hm?”

“You had been stabbed with that large dart…” She explains, with concern and bewilderment. “Are you not in pain? I should look into it.”

“No, there is no need.”

Her brows rise, questioning. “But—!”

“We’re almost there.” He quickly assures her, his voice gentle despite the urgency of the issue. She resorts to being quiet for now, pondering about his health and the supernatural nature he supposedly possess.

“In here.” He tells her, his hand on her left shoulder. His deep breath and excited huff could mean they’re close. Without another word, he dismounts from his place in the saddle and runs towards a thick wall of rocks. Amazed at his speed and dexterity, she watches as he runs behind them, through a dense thicket and disappears through it.

She commands her mare to follow the strange man. Going through the thicket, she brushes away the brambles of greenery and finds him mounting onto his horse, also loaded with equipment.

Turning to see her, he nods his head for her to follow. “I will escort you to a cabin base in Troy’s Woods. There, you and I will meet your decoder.”

She nods, reconfirming that he is indeed an ally. “Yes, I appreciate this…however, I cannot simply ignore an injury you sustained.”

He turns to her with a serene and very thankful expression. “Please, you do not need to worry about that. I will have it looked once we reach the base. I have a friend who has the tools to help my back.”

He sounded too quick to reassure her, as his relaxed body posture as well, as if his injuries are likely not grave at all. She is no doctor, but still, this injury should be enough to cripple someone in pain.

There was another question bubbling at the tip of her tongue.

“One more topic I need to ask…how did you find me?”

She sees a change in his demeanor, which is surprising, even though he masks it with a quirk of his lips to smile and a light-hearted tone to his voice. But most surprising of all is the way his face reddens, which elicits a suffusing hotness across her cheeks.

“Emily Burke mentions meeting you in the Scotch Plains in three days’ time. However, there has been an increase of stragglers there, so Emily evaded them and managed to find refuge in the cabin base of Troy’s Woods. That is where she has been since this morning. It so happens I went in a tavern in Lexington, spying on the soldiers that were buying new slaves from these auctioneers. So, I dismantled that operation and went to find the courier route you were likely taking!”

When he finishes talking, his chest puffs forward proudly and his soft smile, arrogant it may be as he was successful, was genuinely warm and pleasant to look at.

She suppresses a giggle. “Well, if I had not said any thanks earlier, I thank you.”

There was somberness in the silence that followed as they gaze at one another, recollecting the bloody scuffle earlier. That woodsman axe could’ve ended her life…

His smile widens to show his teeth and she feels another wave of warmth suffusing across her body. He says, “We look out for one another. And now, you must finish this mission.”

“Yes…” She agrees. When he turns to the direction where the base is, she sees his bare back. Sure enough, the wound from the rope dart is still as clear as day, yet…

_He isn’t bleeding, nor is turning into an infection._

“Are you sure you won’t need me to look at your wound?” She offers again as she directs her mare to follow him.

He turns to her again, a very mysterious grin on his face. “There will be no need.” And adding to that, his expression turns playful, to which she blushes further. He asks, “Are your concerns for my wound or to spend more time with me?”

She laughs at that one. She didn’t expect this shift in humor! “Do you ask that because you wish to?”

A wider, pleasant smile comes across his full lips, but he doesn’t quip or retort any further. His glowing blue eyes, unnatural they were, gazed at her longingly. She feels her very being entranced towards him, gazing back at him with newfound respect and desire.

She shakes her head and looks down at the ground, ashamed of her own feelings. “We should go…um, Connor…if you are sure that you need no medical assistance.”

His pleasant expression vanishes. While he doesn’t appear forlorn, his sternness earlier makes him look too stiff. “Alright…”

And with that, she follows him down to the path towards Troy’s Woods. All the while, she ponders how it could’ve all been a bit better.

The path ahead slowly darkens as the afternoon sun descends and a wolf’s howl echoes deep in the woods.

 

Arlette Fourni, according to Aveline Grandpré and the associates who welcomed the southern allies, is a very dedicated ally and quite close to Louisiana’s current Mentor. She had befriended a young Cherokee lady, Ayita, and had been the one to help one of his youngest ranked members, Fillan, find time to return Ayita’s feelings and happily married her according to her people’s traditions. He had been invited that time, although put up appearances that he had refused. In actuality, he had watched the heavily-guarded enclosure; temporarily set up for the occasion, to make sure no unwanted companies would destroy this rare happy moment.

And sure enough, there had been a few stragglers passing by, as Arlette and another friend whose name he forgot became their targets.

These stragglers, dressed shabbily and stank of odours so foul, a corpse would’ve risen to run away. He would’ve likely just spooked them if things became violent, but he realized his fears will not come to fruition at that moment.

“Come, love, spare some coins for us poor chaps,” he says in his low, croaky voice, while his eyes leered at the women before him.

“We, uh, we have some of these harvest.” Offered her friend, and like desperate scavengers they were, they quickly took their large baskets full of vegetables that were supposed to be offered for the wedding occasion.

Unfortunately, that had not been enough. You see, these stragglers, shabby and miserable they appear, and missing a few teeth and crooked in the face, their size and overall gait gave away how healthy they truly are. They are pretending and they are most likely in need of currencies for whatever their businesses are. He had decided on two things: if things do go violent, he would give chase—for they are easily spooked of his visage—and stalk them to find where they are likely camped; from there, he would defeat them and interrogate them about their true natures and find a way to dismantle their schemes; if things don’t go violent, he would still stalk them nevertheless and go full on the former plot.

He had expected things to go south and would immediately intervene. He doesn’t underestimate Arlette’s skills, but she and her non-combatant friend are outnumbered.

Shadowed by the tree branches above, he balances on a thick branch as he observes, his hidden blade ready—

“Here. Have my coins and other barter.” She procures her small but heavy pouch full of her money. The stragglers gleefully accept her charity and murmur a malicious “thanks” before disappearing towards the woods.

She quickly pulls her friend’s arm back to the trail toward their enclosure. “Quickly! Come, let’s go!”

She mutters a string of other foreign words, French it seems, according to how he had listened to a few of his French allies and friends, as she and her friend ran.

“Why did you give up your money?” Her friend asked, mortified as they kept running. “I mean, it was clever to have evaded them with it, but now you are likely empty!”

Arlette scoffs and laughs. “The pouch has a few money and precious stones, but they aren’t _all_ that! I filled the pouch with some colored stones and glass! That wasn’t my true money pouch!”

As he chases them to a clearing in the woods, he finds himself smiling hearing her say that. They stop a few meters from where they were stopped by those stupid stragglers, catching their breaths. Her friend is chuckling at the thought of those fools finding out.

“Well! I’ll take that strategy with me! Save lives and mine on my next travels!”

Arlette nods vigorously. “Yes. Now come. We can explain to them what had happened to the baskets.”

The wedding went on without anymore troubles. He managed to locate those stragglers who stole those baskets and her fake money pouch, interrogated the nature of their schemes and used them to hide him to infiltrate another slave-trading fort in Boston’s outskirts. With that mission successful, he had decided to pay the stragglers handsomely and made them vow to no longer commit vile acts, and to live away from the war between the resistance and Washington’s. Most have agreed and he had never seen them again in the last few months. Some have decided to join the cause…

…which would be hilarious, since one of those stragglers would likely remember Arlette now and her fake pouch, as he would be waiting for them in the base at Troy’s Woods.

 

When they reach the destination, she finds herself going slower than the Master Assassin’s, as her eyes wanders to the familiar faces waiting for them at the cabin base.

One of them is Emily Burke, who is appointed to meet her with the coded message. The other is a man, whom she recognized months ago as the one who took her and her friend’s baskets on Ayita’s wedding.

She flit her gaze towards the warrior, who turns back to gaze at her, a sheepish grin on his face. “Come. We must decode the message…”

“I know that man.” She says with venom. And just like that, she sets her mare to charge towards the man, her stiletto pulled out!

“No! Wait!” He warns her, but too late, as her mare rears her front legs at the man, who falls backwards in fear.

“Please! Stop what you’re doing!” Ratonhnhaké:ton sets his horse to charge in between her and the man, Lowell! With his stallion blocking her mare, she turns to face him, eyes wide with anger and confusion, which is understandable. “This man has joined the cause ever since I stopped one of Washington’s slaver fort! He is no longer a violent wayward!”

“Pray, he better not be!” She says, her tone a dangerous murmur. But her brows furrow at Ratonhnhaké:ton, becoming suspicious. “You seem to know who he is…”

“I know what he has done to you.” He speaks, too calm for her comfort. “I apologize that I am unable to tell you immediately as I thought I can when we were inside the cabin, where I thought you would recognize him better.”

She harrumphs and dismounts her horse. “Enough of this. Let’s just continue the mission so I can be rid of these secrets and stalkers!”

She enters the cabin, banging open the door out of frustration.

Ratonhnhaké:ton gives their allies a sympathetic look. Emily shakes her head, a grin on her face. “Whatever it is, you better make it up soon, Connor. She holds grudges.”

Inside the cabin, there was another man, a native and just as broad-shouldered as the warrior. He is poring over stacks of parchment and books, until his eyes meet hers, brow furrowing when she banged it open.

“I apologize.” She murmurs. “I…I have had a very long day.” His face expressing confusion, she decides to procure her delivered message from her basket for him to look into. His bewilderment turns back into scholarly concentration until he turns to someone from behind her.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton!” He greets him, likely an old friend as the two are not only talking in their native language, but are speaking animatedly and even likely exchanging jokes.

“Kanen’tó:kon, I’d love to chat some more but unfortunately, time is of the essence—”

“Yes, yes, that phrase.” He shrugs his shoulders as he cuts him off and takes a look upon the slip of paper. Emily enters the cabin and is about to take her side next to Kanen’tó:kon when she notices the warrior’s back.

“Whoa, now! What’s happened to your back?”

The warrior sighs. “I was to add about the injury I have.”

“He keeps insisting he’s fine.” She crosses her arms and looks very annoyed at him. “I had wanted to look into this injury but he insists he wants it looked here.”

Kanen’tó:kon clicks his tongue at his best friend and directs him to one of the chairs. “Well, he’s as stubborn as he was when he was young.” He peers at the wound and hisses at the sight, making a puckered face. She notices, as he touches his back carefully, the warrior’s face never quite changed his expression. He appears bored, somewhat. “Alright, I can see that the wound is deep…Ratonhnhaké:ton, this is a fool’s wound. I’d say a large dart.”

“Correct.”

“You have never been wounded like this since we were young.” He observes, which raises suspicions inside her mind. As if reading her thoughts, the warrior’s unnatural blue eyes gazes up to her. She turns away and decides to busy herself with Emily.

“Come now, Fourni.” She says and begins opening a book to decode the message she took from the Old Natives’ Woods. Deciding to busy herself with the mission at hand, she lets the questions she has about the warrior set aside for later. “Let’s see what has been happening up north…”

 

Lowell had proven himself to be out of her suspicions now. The cabin, modest in size and purposeful for a small group of people, boasts itself for having a shelter for the horses. And Lowell has a talent for taking care of them with passion. It was through this that he must’ve been valuable in looking out for their steeds.

She apologizes to him an hour later and the two became fast friends. It was through him, however, she has come to learn more about the warrior and the peculiar, supernatural feats he can accomplish.

“And there was a wolf!” Lowell adds, his eyes mystified and looking elsewhere, as he recounts his story. Her eyes squint, trying to appear in disbelief, but she _knew!_ She had seen his wolf! “It was peculiar, appeared by his side without anyone’s knowledge! Well! We aren’t animal experts or any scholarly than the next drunk, but we were sure that wolf was not where it was nor should it have reached such a place in Boston!”

He continues his story, not only of that wolf, but supposedly of other wolves, apparently much more spectral than the actual wolf by his side!

“And you joined the cause because of…his powers?”

Lowell shook his head. “Lemme tell you, miss! I’ve seen strange things in the woods before setting foot on these lands, and most unknown _faes_ I’ve experienced makes anyone tuck their tails and run for it! No, I joined because I knew this would result in something better than being scrubs to a bunch of hangers in chains, continuing to raid another land for slaves or resources or other some-such that only the most privileged lobcock are going to get!”

She smiles in agreement. “People still look up to him, despite his strangeness.”

“Aye, well, it is better he puts that to good use.” He whispers, his eyes wide in terror. “Imagine, having someone like that control the new lands? What would the Brotherhood in your French Quarter do?”

An uneasiness creeps through her at the words he shares, and likely he has such as well. “We’re here. We’ve seen him do these strange things. If he wanted to take the throne Washington made for himself, he would’ve taken it without thinking of the consequences.”

 

Emily successfully decodes the slip of paper as Kanen’tó:kon writes down the passage. Excited, the women and Kanen’tó:kon plot the next move needed.

“The north is in dire need of more supplies but Washington’s army have moved down to the main Thirteen States. Indeed, I will write to Lady Grandpré of the situation.”

They write the coded letters needed to be sent off to the following main quarters of their resistance. With Kanen’tó:kon going to Charlestown to enact on supplying their base in the Old Natives’ Woods, Ratonhnhaké:ton volunteers to go with him, but decides to have Emily with him on his travels.

“You have your reputation here,” Kanen’tó:kon reiterates sternly. “The plan to create the Wolf-Warrior was to make everyone afraid of you. It is working to spread fear like a disease.”

“Then be careful.” Ratonhnhaké:ton murmurs to his friend. They both lean their foreheads to each other, as well as held each others’ arms tightly. She watches with sympathy, realizing she had been a bit too harsh and suspicious with the warrior, adding to it her own mixed feelings for him. This mission is riddled with too many dangers and this could be the last time they saw of each other.

Lowell is on a shorter trip, taking with him another coded message, which should be passed to another base in Packanack.

“Be careful.” Ratonhnhaké:ton wishes him luck before Lowell rides off into the night.

Now with the cabin left for the two of them, she had initially planned to begin her quest immediately to deliver her message to Monmouth, with the additional plot to rid of the stragglers likely still loitering at their base in the Scotch Plains. However, Kanen’tó:kon needed someone to look after Ratonhnhaké:ton’s wound, despite both protesting and insisting that he is fine, that Arlette can leave with Lowell instead and that Ratonhnhké:ton is more than capable of handling the quest himself. But his friend had scolded him for being reckless, who he points out to be uncharacteristic of him and anymore foolishness would jeopardize the mission.

“Heal. Rest. You have the whole night to fully recover. _Then_ you can go about fulfilling the quest, preferably without getting darted!” Kanen’tó:kon insists with the sternest of brows before leaving with Emily. Outside, she can see the way Emily smiles at Kanen’tó:kon and the way he reciprocates with a sweet grin of his own whatever words she had exchanged with him. She huffs, realizing she has likely been cheated! Made to become a caretaker for this ‘spreader of the disease of fear’!

_Zut! Merde!_

“Alright.” Ratonhnhaké:ton, clearly annoyed at being scolded by his own friend, sits on the bed with the cup of tea his friend prepared for him. “Taking more watered-down Red Willow Tea should do me well…” He says through gritted teeth before sipping the contents through the edge of the cup.

She huffs at him and wearily gestures her hands against the air! Ratonhnhaké:ton makes no move or say on what she is doing, simply looking at her with the most nonchalant expression as he finishes his tea.

Deciding to bury herself in the previous work on the desk chair Kanen’tó:kon sat on earlier, she does her best to ignore him! And this went on deep into the night.

Poring herself over the coded mission logs and previous written code messages, she becomes enamored with the system of encrypting them. There are some written in normal languages—English, French, Spanish, even Irquoian, Chinese, Dutch and Irish—but they are not written in the formalities or styles of most mainstream text. Indeed, reading some of the ones she can fluently understand, they were written quite coldly, too objectively and moreover, no mention of certain names at all, but simply in monikers: The Wolf-Warrior (Ratonhnhaké:ton), The Bear, The Carpenter, The Independent, The Red Robber, The Sharpshooter, the monikers went on…

She realized, through subtext, that these were the aliases of the highest ranked allies and of veterans alike. She has none, for she has neither knowledge of being given any nor made knowledge of any of how to acquire one. But of course, to ensure the secrecy of the resistance and the Assassins that work with them, these monikers may have been made by someone who simply overseers these messages. Her head hurts thinking of the deepness of these secrecies.

She buries her forehead on her palms as she does her best to calm down. She feels a softness enveloping her shoulders and turns around.

“It’s getting cold.” Ratonhnhaké:ton murmurs flatly, offering her the warm furs likely stashed in the wooden cabinets. Without another word, he leaves her be as he goes to mind over the leftover meat from the provisions they have, boiling on the pot.

There, a large hunk of a man, harmless now and quite focused on his domestic duties, lies mysteries she wishes to learn. But she knew that learning something can have a price.

But it gnawed at her the many inconsistencies this man has been acting on. And so, without thinking anymore, she blurts out: “What did he mean, when he said you were being uncharacteristically foolish? You were injured, that is not a mistake to scold upon.”

He turned to her when she spoke and somehow, even with the golden light of the fire, the color seems to drain from him. She felt she has come upon a secret. “Please,” she murmurs, begging. “Tell me at least there is something that you must be doing. You don’t need to tell me entirely. You are already strange enough as it is, and although I am not religious, there are things in this world that evade the most scientific of minds or of explanations. I respect what you can do, but…I am…”

She shakes her head as she recounts the whole afternoon and the injury he sustained; the night she first saw him, the Wolf-Warrior, likely stalking the Mile’s End inn like some recluse; and the fact that he knew about the time she had tricked a few stragglers months ago.

“I only know you through Lady Grandpré’s words and accounts. I have seen your drawn face on letters, about the Master Assassin of the northern colonies…but that is it. I have not seen you…or truly known you since my arrival…”

She felt the dark emotions boiling deep inside her stomach, almost wanting to spill out of her as she bleeds. She feels betrayed, or left out, made untrustworthy of some things about the resistance, especially of the Assassins. Perhaps even Lady Grandpré has not truly trusted her.

He stands up from the spot near the hearth, where he minded over the cooking pot and walks over to her. Despite the wolf hood, she can at least see the gentle and sympathetic look he is giving her.

He kneels before her, looking up at her with those unnatural, glowing blue eyes. She thought they looked warm, what with his pupils blown and focused upon her. His voice, when he spoke to her, was deep, assuaging and quite something that took her breath away.

“Aveline has kept her word, then, of wanting this plan to work fully. I apologize for my uncouth behaviour and of the lack of explanations, but I assure you, you are not being made untrustworthy of this cause. I know of the challenges you have gone through to get here to support us and I am more than grateful for your actions. I am happy you have come this far, Arlette. You are a very hardworking woman and a great warrior. Aveline must be proud to have you. But I am sorry, my nature must remain a secret. There are…things about the woods that answer to certain people like me. If Washington finds a way to do so, then we are doomed.”

Her eyes widen, realizing a more dangerous implication and a burden he and a few are responsible for. Out of humility, she grasps his arms and bows at him, crying. “Please! I am too impudent! Forgive me!” She began to apologize in French and Corsu, and some in halting English. His hands rest upon her firmly, shaking her out of her self-deprecation.

“Arlette! Please! Listen to me.” He takes her to his arms and pulls her upwards to stand firmly up. “You do not need to apologize! You—!”

“Ratonhnhaké:ton! I implore you, please.” She begs to him in tears, her blue-green eyes red and puffy. “Whatever the reason that made you come for me this noon, do not do so again! Please, there are people in more dire need of someone like you!”

The way she spoke so ardently cut too deep into his soul. She had figured out, half of it, the reason he was able to rescue her out of the blue! She had relegated herself to be near and convenient for his abilities, when in fact, he has become powerful and more skilled as the year goes by! And yet the reality of what she had said dawn on him and her attitude about herself and her importance breaks his heart.

“Arlette…” He murmurs and, out of his long admiration for this woman, embraces her into his arms.

She gasps at his action, finding it all so ridiculous to be true! And so _breathtaking_ to feel a warm man, a brave man and quite a stubborn man press himself to her in assurance.

She knew this was out of kindness, and yet she finds this fleeting moment to be everything she deeply craved once, like the spring that blossoms from a long winter. She presses her nose against his skin and finds comfort in the texture of him: not so hairy like most of the white men, yet the slight roughness of his skin is masculine, as is general with men. He smelled more ordinary than she expected, with the hint of the autumnal leaves, crisp, clean and gentle.

And his thick arms, firm in their muscular strength and yet so tender in the way they enclose around her. She moans in pleasure, liking the way he feels against her own skin.

He clears his throat. “Um, keep the hide on you.”

His advice was a way to tell her to let him go, and so she does so with a heavy sigh. “I apologize—“

“Again, there is no need to say so.” He assures her with a wide smile and pulls away. “Come. Let’s make dinner.”

**Author's Note:**

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